Persona
by gracefullyaesthetic
Summary: Michelle Obama once said, "Everyone carries their own history, and that alone deserves to be respected." A series of character studies written for the characters of Harry Potter. Rather self-explanatory, I think.
1. Pansy Parkinson

character of study: pansy parkinson

**AN: Draco is NOT a death eater in this story. i wanted to see what it would be like to write about. considering i wrote this when i was half dead and had just returned from a trip, spare me.**

_.i._

Pansy Arabella Parkinson.

Moderately pretty, a two-year graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Currently watching her love marry another woman.

It hurt. So much.

Idly, she wondered how it had all fallen to this. She grew up as the typical perfect pureblood princess, living in a perfect manor. Pansy spent her days playing with the porcelain dolls her father had brought from Asia and being served upon by house-elves. She grew up in the company of Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Millicent Bulstrode.

She was sure she loved Draco from the beginning she met him, from his self-righteous attitude all the way to his platinum blond head. Her mother had been thrilled over their acquaintance, the Malfoy family held a high place within society's standards. Camilla Violetta Parkinson had wished for her daughter to find her place beside the Malfoy scion. It would raise her family's reputation drastically, and that was all her mother cared about.

Her reputation. Just as how most pureblood families didn't really care whether their children were happy or not, they only wished for society to idolize and admire them.

Pansy played the perfect role of the perfect minion to Draco, convincing the Sorting Hat to place her within Slytherin when it had originally planned on placing her within Ravenclaw. She followed him into Slytherin, she followed him when he taunted the Golden Trio, she was always there.

_Always. _Even it seemed as though he didn't even realize she was there at times, she stayed because she loved him. It was utterly stupid. Pansy had known from the very beginning he didn't return her feelings but she convinced herself he would one day see her for that was_ all that mattered._

She listened to him rant angrily about "Pot-head, the Weasel, and the mudblood." She listened to him triumphantly announce the mudblood had been put into the hospital wing by the basilisk, she listened when he exclaimed over how Granger had punched him in the nose, hard.

Pansy had observed the girl before. She had bushy hair, frizzy strands that seemed to have a life of their own. Whenever a professor asked a question, she would immediately act as though electrocuted, waving her arm in the air as though she would die if the professor failed to call upon her. She had smooth, pale skin. Her lips contained humongous teeth—"beaver teeth," as Draco called it.

Everything Granger was, Pansy wasn't.

Though it bothered her, she reminded herself she didn't want beaver teeth and frizzy hair.

Pansy's dislike for Granger only grew year after year, the girl was much too clever, and seemed to effortlessly capture Draco's attention when she had to fight for it.

However, it was only during their fourth year did her dislike morph into hatred. The night of the Yule Ball—Pansy had gotten Draco to take her, and had been excited about it for weeks—Pansy had shut herself in her dorm for hours. She arranged her ebony tresses into loose curls and shoved herself into the frilly pink robes her mother had picked out for her. She met Draco at the staircase and was thrilled to see him dashing as ever.

They entered the doors to the Great Hall, and as she scrambled for a topic to speak to him about, Granger appeared with her date. Pansy's voice had instantly died within her throat when she caught sight of the girl, _she was stunning. _Her atrocious bushy hair had been smoothed into loose ringlets of curls, and her willowy figure was shown through her dress, a periwinkle robe made of floaty, rich-looking material. Her smile was radiant, and Pansy swore she heard Draco mutter "not bad" under his breath.

Pansy instantly flushed with embarrassment. She had only wanted to look _nice, _putting in hours of meticulous effort to try and get noticed for once, to feel_ pretty,_ maybe even beautiful, and that was all she wanted.

But then Granger came and blasted it all apart with a couple of bottles of hair potion and her radiant smile. The rest of the night was ruined for both Draco and Pansy. When dancing with her, Draco's eyes kept flitting to Granger.

When the night ended, Pansy put on a brave smile and marched up to the girl's dormitory, before throwing herself onto her bed and sobbing.

During their fifth year, when Granger was captured by the Inquisitorial Squad, Pansy saw Draco pass Granger's wand back to her, before giving her a grim look. Granger looked shocked, before accepting it gratefully and giving him a small, tentative smile. He returned her a smile, a brief lift on the corner of his lips. Pansy glared hatefully at the girl.

Draco never gave her a smile before.

He only ever threw her wicked smirks, but never a true smile.

It stung.

Sixth year passed with a blur, Pansy had developed into a rather pretty girl, not as pretty as Granger or the Weaslette, but still pretty. Seventh year, Granger wasn't there. Pansy pretended to not see the way Draco's fist would clench when he received the daily mail, and relax when he saw there was no news concerning the Golden Trio. She pretended to not see the letters he received from Granger—the two had struck up a correspondence over the summer. She pretended it didn't hurt when he would brush her off callously.

Pansy was a fantastic actress. She was so good she sometimes almost managed to trick herself.

Almost.

The day of the battle began, and when it ended, Pansy ran for Draco, almost weeping with joy when she saw he was unmarred. Granger got there first.

She threw her arms around his neck, he cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Her heart seemed to sink into pits of despair, Pansy had broken down sobbing, but nobody had paid her any attention, each caught up in their own grief and euphoria.

She received an invitation to their wedding two years later, and here she was.

She smiled as the beautiful bride walked down the aisle on the arm of her best friend, she smiled as her love kissed his love, she smiled and clapped politely, and frowned disapprovingly when the catcalls and wolf-whistles sounded.

She was good at pretending. Too good. She would always love him, she knew, and she hated herself _every single fucking day _for it, she hated him for loving another, she hated Granger for catching his eye, she hated herself for falling in love in the first place.

The girl sitting next to her began to sob. "It's such a beautiful ceremony," she cried, as she wiped at her eyes.

Pansy smiled distantly. "It is," she answered, and smiled beatifically. "It is."


	2. Walburga Black

Walburga Black character study

_.i._

AN: i am currently in the throes of grief, for i have just completed my exams and am 100% sure my gpa will absolutely suck this time.

**Warning for mentions of miscarriage.**

_.i._

Walburga wondered how long she had sat in her bed already. Her comforter was bunched up around her, and she was beginning to lose all feeling in her limbs. The strands of her hair that had escaped from her bun were tickling the sides of her cheeks, begging to be swept to behind her ear.

She could very distantly hear Sirius and Regulus screaming and shouting in the distance, the euphoria of childhood overtaking them. She could hear Kreacher's footsteps on the stairs, no doubt coming up to check on her. She could hear Orion, her husband, shattering his priceless bottle of champagne in his study. She could hear her hollow heart beating against her ribcage.

She could hear, she could _feel _the loss of her daughter.

It hurt to even breathe. With each breath taken, it felt as though needles were piercing through her lungs, pulling her down and refusing to give her air. She wished for the anguish to end.

The 'incident' had occurred two days ago, but Walburga remembered it as though it had occurred moments ago.

The door slowly creaked open. Kreacher gave a wordless announcement of his arrival by closing the door. He crept slowly to her bedside table and quietly swapped out the cold cup of tea for a cup that had no doubt just been freshly brewed.

_.i._

Daughters were precious to the House of Black. They were treasured, above all other priceless items. After all, while sons were the heirs, the daughters were the ones who truly captivated everyone in the family.

Walburga had a daughter once. She never saw her face, but knew already what she looked like. She had imagined herself holding her daughters hand and helping her into tiny-robes, had imagined her daughter coming to her for advice, and had imagined her braiding her daughter's hair.

Walburga had chosen the name 'Astrea,' for her daughter. Astrea meant star, and Walburga felt as though the name was quite fitting.

Closing her eyes, she felt a single tear slide down her face. The warm droplet was a contrast to her freezing cheeks, before quickly cooling immediately.

She soon found herself drifting off into a restless and fitful sleep.

_.i._

Walburga stared at herself in the mirror. Just two weeks before, she had stared at herself in the mirror with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes. Now all she saw was pale, pasty skin with dead, almost haunted looking eyes.

She wondered how she had become to all this.

_.i._

A few months had passed. Walburga could go on her day normally, yet sometimes, her grief would overwhelm her and force her to feel as though she were drowning, and she would ask herself how can she be so _normal _when something so terrible has happened to her.

_.i._

She soon realized Orion was distancing himself away from her.

She didn't know if it was because he hated and blamed her for miscarrying, or if it was his own version of coping.

_.i._

When she found the sherry-scented nightdress in his closet, Walburga was sure it was his way of telling her directly he didn't want anything to ever do with her again.

_.i._

Walburga soon realized love wasn't an emotion she could afford. She had loved Astrea so deeply, and Astrea had left her. She had loved Orion so much yet he still chose to engage in an affair. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Why was she so surprised? She had done her duty, provided him with heirs, what else did she expect?

That day, she vowed to never let Regulus and Sirius realize how much she loves them.

_.i._

Sirius had left.

It was tormenting her. She wanted so badly to reach out to him, for him to realize how much she _cares, _but she vowed to never show weakness.

_.i._

Regulus was dead.

Walburga wasn't sure she could feel anything.

_.i._

Her soul remained trapped in her portrait. She would never be set free.

She was caged like a bird, her wings clipped.

She would never get peace.

She would never meet Astrea.

Her soul was tormented.

_.i._

As the Potter boy blasted her portrait into shards, she let out the first real, genuine smile in a very, very long time.

_.i._

She was free.


End file.
